


Her Mrs. Robinson Complex

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Implied Relationships, Multi, Multiple Partners, Post Episode: s03e17 Maelstrom, Sad, Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6949438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just one of those things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Mrs. Robinson Complex

She smiles a lot more when she's naked. And she has an incredible smile, does Laura Roslin, one that not only takes years off her face, but makes her...kinda naughty. Maybe vixenish. Carefree in a way that the glasses-wearing, soberly dressed, polite woman who inspires and leads and sometimes misleads the frakking fleet could never be.

"I like this part," she says as his lips find her collarbone and his hands carve the line between woman and bed, barely touching shivery-soft skin. "Okay, lower. Oh my gods, lower."

She has a vocal tone that's bossy but delighted, like she's about to laugh at how good it feels and how much fun she's having, being stroked and kissed on the tops of her breasts. He likes it a lot. He likes it a hell of a lot.

Everything about this is of course wrong -- if anyone should be licking a sensitive spot between the president's breasts, it should be Admiral Adama.

Not the grunt who brings him coffee.

And frak, her foot is trailing along the outside of his thigh and oh, frak him, he's so hard for her. She's grinning at him like this is the most fun she's had in ages, a big toothy grin that's really hot and cute at the same time.

"Like this?" he asks, touching the inside of her thigh and earning a little whimper and her hand atop his, moving it up. "Are you sure?"

"If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't be naked," Roslin informs him, guiding his hand to where she's definitely wet. He moans a bit at that, cuz the president is wet for him. Who wouldn't be turned on? "You're not going to leave me high and dry, are you?"

She punctuates her question by sucking on his earlobe and his hips buck despite himself and his fingers find their way in. All the way in.

It's been a while since there was a girl, since him and Jayma broke up over the part where she wanted to screw that civvie, and Jayma wasn't the president. But he remembers how to do this. In. Out. In. Out.

"Slower," she says. He nods earnestly, and slows down. "You're nervous, aren't you?"

"Little bit," he says. And who wouldn't be? The president is screwing him in Adama's quarters, and even though he knows the old man's not coming around any time soon, it's wrong but gods damn. He's not made of stone.

"Let me help you," she murmurs, one of her fingers joining his. "I won't break, sweetie."

Okay. Hot. Especially the way her eyes start to flutter closed as they find a little warm spot and rub it in circles, instead of just pumping away, in-out-in-out.

"Is that good?"

She whimpers. "Good. Very good. Do it harder," she says.

He does it harder. The president whimpers again, sounding pleased, and he'd do something like kiss her or something, but it takes all his concentration, to touch the right spot and swirl his fingers right there. When he finds good spots, she starts moving faster, starts sweating.

It's kind of neat. Hot, too, definitely hot because one of her hands is clutching at the sheets and the other one is squeezing his arm, harder when he makes her feel good, but...a learning experience, he thinks.

"You like that, don't you?" he asks. "I can do it faster."

"No, no, not faster," she says, shaking her head. "It's good like this, so good."

Talking this much during sex is different, but he's getting hotter and hotter, watching her whine and whimper and suddenly that hand that's been clutching the sheet is hovering over his and it's rubbing, and oh, gods, that's hot, especially because the president's moaning like he didn't think women really moaned.

"You're so sexy," he says. "You're amazing."

Her eyes open up and she smiles again, wicked and sexy and laughing at him. "Make me come," she orders him, licking her lips.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, mouth dry. He slides another finger into her and does it harder, faster, focusing on the good spot. She's all flushed and feverish, teeth biting down on her lower lip, head thrashing as they keep touching her.

And then her back arches and she shudders around him, squeezing his fingers hard as she cries out wordlessly before falling back against the bed.

His fingers slip out of her and catch her wrist as her eyes meet his.

"Now, corporal," she says, voice sex-roughened and stripped of even a little sweetness. "Frak me."

He doesn't even think about it; he slams into the president, because his dick's been hard for her since she put her hand on his shoulder gently and whispered for him to come here with her, please.

It's only when he's in her, balls-deep and groaning at how good it feels to frak a woman, period, let alone a woman who's just whispered, "this is nice, but I think we might have to try something a little more...interesting..." that he realizes that President Roslin didn't ask for his name.

And she doesn't want it.

"What do you want to do?" he asks as her hand caresses the side of his face. "Is this not good?"

"Oh, this is lovely, but variety is better," she says, pulling back and giving him another one of her sexy smiles. "After all, we should both enjoy this."

He nods eagerly. Because the sooner he gets to frak her again, the happier he'll be.

* * *

Bill comes back maybe twenty minutes after Laura's sent his coffee boy packing, with lots of lingering touches and extracted promises about how he'll never, ever tell. She was just so lonely and it was an accident and he's a gentleman, isn't he?

So Laura's a little tired now, though in a pleasant way, and she's resting her head on her arms on Bill's desk, thinking about all she has to do.

"Are you all right?" Bill asks her, brushing his hand across her shoulders.

"I had time to kill, so I frakked the coffee boy," Laura replies with a tiny smile and a buzz down her spine. "Nice kid. Attentive to detail."

He won't believe her. He thinks she likes to tease him about her imaginary sex life where she's frakked half the fleet because Bill is too upstanding a gentleman to do so.

"Who's tomorrow's conquest?" Bill asks, making a joke that's funny for other reasons.

"I don't know. How would you feel if I seduced Dualla?" Laura asks, smiling quietly. "Or the Six in your brig. I've wanted to do that more times than I can count, but I can't find the courage to be so brazen."

Bill snorts. "I think you should get some rest," he says, petting her hair.

"Come get it with me," Laura says, reaching out and touching his arm. "Please?"

"I'm on duty," he says, shaking his head. "Besides, you need to save your strength."

Laura surrenders, knowing that he's not right, but that as long as he ignores the number of his officers she's seduced and told him about, he can ignore that she always has just enough strength.

"Okay," she says, sitting up and yawning. "I think I'll go home. Who's on Raptor duty tonight?"

"I don't know," Bill said. "Does it really matter?"

"No," Laura says with another smile. "It really doesn't."

* * *

Racetrack is hanging around the hanger deck when the president strides up, looking tired but attentive. "Are you the Raptor pilot?" the president asks, giving her a smile.

"Yes, sir. Lt. Margaret Edmonson, at your service," Racetrack says. "Do you want to go back to Colonial One, sir?"

"I do," Laura says, looking at her with bright eyes. It's kind of flattering; Track's never had the president's attention all to herself, and she's kind of a firecracker. "If I may say, you've got lovely hair."

"Thanks," Track says, fidgeting a little. "You, too."

The president still wears the slightest bit of perfume, Racetrack notices as she helps her into the Raptor. It's nice -- spicy, kind of.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," the president says, and Racetrack realizes she's still touching Roslin, staring off into space like a brain-dead fraktard.

"Of course, sir," she says, shaking her head. "Get yourself buckled in and we'll be cleared to go any time, okay?"

"I'm in no hurry," Roslin says. "The company is always better on Galactica."

For some reason, this makes Racetrack really self-conscious, even though it's silly. The frakking president of the frakking Colonies isn't going to hit on a Raptor pilot. Especially not a GIRL pilot.

At least, Racetrack doesn't think so.

* * *

Seduction used to be more fun, Laura thinks as the young woman flying her home blushes and turns to her controls.

It was fun with Lee; she'd brushed her fingertips against his ear and he'd shuddered. She'd whispered the filthiest things she could think of to him in public meetings until he begged her to stop so he could walk. All that without changing expression -- gods, it had been sheer delight.

It was fun with Kara; Kara had stared at her, and said, "are you serious?" and Laura had just folded her arms and given her a grin even nastier than the ones Kara was prone to give and said, "I guess you don't really have what it takes, do you?" before finding out just how much Kara liked to please.

Somehow, it's not fun anymore, just...routine. This pilot girl, for example -- she's confused and embarrassed. Laura will have to take the initiative. The other one, the one who'd died, had been perhaps the last fun seduction Laura had had in months, because she'd demanded SHE be on top, not Laura.

Kat. Her name had been Kat, Laura remembers distantly as she turns her face away from this one and thinks of what she's doing, of who's choked out her name in her bed, pressed their body against hers and pleaded for the chance to serve the pleasure of their president.

So many people in the fleet. So many with the same fantasy, or at least the same kind of fantasy. Hot for teacher, hot for mommy, hot to break the uptight bitch...it all ended up the same way, with her finding some kind of release in someone's arms.

The real surprise, even now, is how many people can keep a secret, and how many people want to believe they're the only one she's lost control with.

"Madam President?" someone asks, and Laura blinks. She's been far away again, and when she sees the pilot -- Racetrack? -- it reminds her how long her day has been already. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Laura says, blinking again. "Did you know Kat?"

The pilot nods mutely. "We were friends, yeah," she says. "You knew her?"

"A little bit," Laura says, thinking of how Kat had pinned her hand over Laura's mouth and started whispering. The fierce smile on the girl's face before she bit down on one of Laura's nipples. The nail marks she'd left in Laura's thighs, bracing her against the wall of the toilet stall while she lapped at Laura hungrily. She's had a hundred encounters like it since she became President; why is she remembering one dead girl now?

And not even the one who mattered, Laura realizes, remembering with an unpleasant shock that Kara Thrace is also dead.

The girl is looking at her, confused. Laura tries to smile.

"I'm sorry, you must think I'm a space case. Are we on Colonial One?" she asks, trying to shore up a case for her sanity and failing at it.

"Yes, sir," Racetrack says. "Can I help you?"

This used to be fun. It really did.

"Not tonight," Laura decides, struggling to her feet. "Thank you, though."


End file.
